


at last, we see each other plain

by frozensight



Category: Battle Creek (TV)
Genre: Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, bad les mis references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 17:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3737356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frozensight/pseuds/frozensight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The case seems normal, or at least as normal as a case involving Canadian environmental terrorists can be, and things are tying up nicely.</p>
<p>Or at least, Russ thinks they are until he's standing next to Milt after putting the last perp into the back of a squad car, and everything goes to hell. A man shows up out of nowhere, yells something in French, and then fires a gun--<i>at Milt</i>, who is, oh, <i>right next to Russ</i>.</p>
<p>(aka a fic where they both get hurt, bad decisions are made, and everyone thinks they're idiots.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	at last, we see each other plain

**Author's Note:**

> inspired/written for the prompt "protective!Russ: Milt's being hunted by someone who wants revenge, and it's Russ' job to protect him. Cue protective Russ, possibly arguing with Milt, who wants to take the risk of being in the field." over on the [bckm](http://battlecreekmeme.livejournal.com/) and then it spiraled out of control and far away from me and became this.
> 
> seriously, the amount of times I asked myself "how did this fic get so long????" is ridiculous because i _genuinely_ don't know.
> 
> nevertheless, I hope you enjoy! I enjoyed writing it.

The case seems normal, or at least as normal as a case involving Canadian environmental terrorists can be, and things are tying up nicely.

Or at least, Russ thinks they are until he's standing next to Milt after putting the last perp into the back of a squad car, and everything goes to hell. A man shows up out of nowhere, yells something in French, and then fires a gun-- _at Milt_ , who is, oh _, right next to Russ_.

Milt drags them both down to the ground, gun out and prepared to fire back at the random assailant, but when he goes to respond, the guy's gone. Russ, meanwhile, hisses as he tries to keep his right arm still because _of course_ he'd take a bullet meant for Milt unintentionally. He almost wishes he could travel back in time so he could help the poor bastard's aim.

"Looks like we missed one," grumbles Russ as Milt efficiently gets out the first aid kit from the car and puts pressure on Russ' arm.

"He's not Canadian." Milt isn't meeting his eyes, and Russ kinda wants to scream that now isn't the time to play up his stupid FBI training schtick.

"How the hell do you know that?"

"His accent." He's pulling out his cellphone--eyes still avoiding Russ' questioning face--and dialing a number.

"His accent."

"Yes; it was Parisian, not Québécois."

Russ can't help rolling his eyes. "Oh, yes, _naturally_."

Milt just gives him a brief smile of acknowledgment before he gets up and walks over to the nearest officer, phone now glued to the side of his head. Not wanting to get up and follow, Russ leans back against the patrol car and waits for the inevitable ambulance ride.

\------

"So," begins Russ, freshly discharged from the hospital and now standing in front of Milt's desk with an arm in a sling-- _again_ , "what the hell was yesterday about?"

Milt looks up from his computer, the picture of innocence, and it fills Russ with a low-simmering rage. "Please be more specific, Russ. A lot of things happened."

"You _know_ what I mean, Milt; the whole Kwebekwa or whatever guy who _shot me_ when he was _aiming for you_."

"Québécois," corrects Milt, pushing away from his desk and standing up, smoothing the front of his jacket as he does so, "and I'm afraid that the finer details behind yesterday's incident are classified."

Russ stares at him for a moment, disbelief flowing through him. "The details...are...classified."

"Yes. The Parisian man from yesterday is someone I know from a case I handled years ago. I've already informed my superiors of what happened--" His phone call while an officer requested an ambulance. "--and they said to let them take care of it. There's nothing for you, or the Battle Creek Police Department to worry about."

He lets the information settle in, thinking it all over and piecing it with everything Milt's ever said. Somewhere amongst the lies and the lies about lies, there had to be _some_ truth to the things Milt said so easily. For now though, Russ decides to play along. "So I'm not going to get the satisfaction of catching this asshole, am I?"

Milt smiles at him again, and Russ wants to punch it off with how fake it is. "This will have to be the one time that Detective Russ Agnew doesn't get his man."

Russ snorts and waves a hand dismissively at Milt. He leaves the FBI office without another word, catching Holly's inquisitive gaze from across the hall for a second before he walks out of the building.

\------

FBI Special Agent Milton Chamberlain is full of shit.

It's just a fact, Russ decides as he sits on his couch because Guziewicz insisted on making him take at least one day off since the case is finished and he's injured. No one is allowed to call him about anything work related, which means no one contacts him with the exceptions of Font, who texted him asking if Russ'd like a target tattooed on his shoulder to save the next shooter some trouble, and Holly, who called briefly to ask if there's anything he'd like for her to pick up on her way home that evening. He told Font to fuck off and told Holly that he was fine--had just gone grocery shopping last weekend, actually. Font had responded with a sequence of emojis: kissy face, smiling poop, and a thumbs up, that Russ ignored, and Holly had said, "Okay! Just call if you think of anything!" and hung up.

Phone still in his hand as he stands before his fridge, devoid of anything besides most of a six pack and leftover pizza from a week and a half ago, Russ finds that he really hates Milton Chamberlain.

Not that it's his fault that Russ' fridge is a barren wasteland, no, that lies solely on Russ, who has been putting off a trip to the store for weeks now by eating take-out and fast food, but he does blame Milt for his current situation. Because it _is_ Milt's fault that he got shot, what with his stupid fucking International Man of Mystery routine that just serves to piss Russ off to no end, and it _is_ his fault that Russ is at home in the middle of the day instead of at his desk where he's perfectly capable of ignoring the sorry state of his apartment and fridge.

He's resigned himself to calling that Chinese place down the street when his phone goes off. Caller ID says 'Unknown,' so Russ answers and hits record as a precaution.

"Detective Russ Agnew speaking."

" _Bonjour, Detective_." Russ tenses, his right hand flexing in a desire to reach for his gun despite the sling. " _I must apologize for my actions yesterday. I assure you that I have nothing against you except for the company you keep. You really should invest in better friends than Special Agent Chamberlain._ "

"Trust me, guy, he's not my friend."

The man chuckles, and Russ finds himself bristling at it. " _This is grand news, Detective, for I had greatly feared I would have to convince you otherwise. Now everything is much easier._ "

"Oh yeah? How so?" Russ looks over to where his landline is and then his laptop, considering his options and whether he should contact Milt or Guziewicz first.

" _That is for me to know, and for you and Special Agent Chamberlain to find out. I apologize again for shooting you. Now if you excuse me, I have a job to finish_ ."

"What do you mean by--"

" _Goodbye, Detective_." Click.

Russ looks down at his phone, ends the recording, and sighs.

"God _damn_ it, Milt."

\------

Of course Milt is in the squad room when Russ gets back to the precinct, chatting it up with Font and Jacocks and drinking coffee--Milt has his stupid FBI mug which means he's drinking _espresso_ or what the fuck ever they have over in the FBI office. Holly tries to stop him, asking why he's there when he's supposed to be at home resting and that if he had needed something from his desk, she would've gladly brought it to him, but Russ ignores her, as much as it pains him, and focuses on Milt.

"You, your office, _now_ ," he demands, pointing at Milt before turning around and stomping out and over to Milt's office. He's sure his co-workers are confused as hell, but he's also sure that Milt knows exactly what this is about.

Milt at least understands that Russ isn't fucking around, and arrives seconds after Russ, not even bothering to walk around to stand behind his desk before he asks, "What is it, Russ?" His voice is laced with concern, but Russ doesn't buy _that_ for a minute.

"Listen to this." Russ presses play on the recording of the phone call and places his phone on Milt's desk. He watches Milt's face, silently pleased when he sees the typically cavalier and lackadaisical man grow serious, his face becoming tight and expressionless. The recording ends, and Russ picks his phone back up. "Now--what the _hell_ was yesterday about?"

"Russ, it's--"

"Say classified and I will punch you in your pretty boy _face_." Milt actually steps back a bit, and Russ takes a little bit of pleasure from that. "I was willing to overlook this when it was just taking a bullet for my partner, even though he's a tight-lipped douchebag. I am perfectly able to let the crook get away--shit happens, but classified my _ass_ when the shooter calls me while I'm off duty and makes veiled threats at not just my partner but me as well."

Milt's silent, eyes evaluating Russ. Eventually he says, "I'm touched, but this is really a matter for the Bureau." His mouth opens because fuck all if Milt isn't missing the goddamn point again, but Milt holds up a hand to quiet him. "However, since he seems to have gotten your phone number, it's probably safe to assume he knows your address and has been monitoring you as well as me, so we probably both should not go back to our apartments. Do you have any pets or plants to worry about?"

"Huh? No, I don't."

"Okay, then I'll arrange for a safe house in the meanwhile." Milt turns away, phone out again, and Russ is still trying to figure out what the fuck is happening.

"Can I at least know what this jackhole's name is?"

Milt hesitates, but he seems poised to speak when whoever he's calling picks up and that derails him for about fifteen minutes while he gets things set up--Russ is almost terrified that their safe house is going to be even _more_ extravagant than the one they'd taken Ricky to--and when he hangs up, Milt goes over to sit at his desk and clicks away at his computer before he says, "Valjean."

"What?"

"His name is Valjean."

Russ scoffs, sitting down in a chair because apparently they're waiting around for something. "Did you steal his loaf of bread or something?"

Milt looks up, surprised. "You've read _Les_ _Misérables_?"

He slinks further down in the chair, fighting the urge to prop his feet up on Milt's stupid leather desk. "No, but I saw the movie. You know, the one with Wolverine, Gladiator, and Catwoman."

This time Milt scoffs, and Russ is almost sure he hears him mutter something like, " _Of course_ ," which isn't fair because that's _his_ line.

"Anyway, why's Valjean after you?"

"That's--"

"Oh for fuck's sake don't say it."

"--classified."

"I hate you."

\------

The safe house, thank _god_ , turns out to be a small studio apartment in the middle of downtown Battle Creek. It's furnished, but modestly, making Russ only feel slightly inadequate. That, however, is the good news because if the text Russ gets from Jacocks when he and Milt leave together that says "what about Holly???" means what he _thinks_ it does, then he might kill Milt before bread boy even gets another shot.

Then again, apparently that's going to be easier than Russ thought.

"What do you _mean_ there aren't going to be any other agents?" He's pacing in front of the tv while Milt messes around in the kitchen doing god knows what, but presumably fixing food.

"It's an old case and it's highly classified. It'd take too long to read someone into it, so they've decided to let me handle it."

"He _tried_ to _shoot_ you."

"Yes, and _clearly_ his aim leaves much to be desired."

"You're unbelievable! Do they train you to be complete dicks at FBI boot camp or something?" Russ plops onto the couch, ignoring the twinge of his shoulder, because he's not going to get anything accomplished by pacing.

"I don't think anyone can be 100% a dick, Russ," says Milt calmly as he walks over with two plates as he'd apparently been making them sandwiches.

"Did you just quote _Guardians of the Galaxy_ to me?"

Milt grins, holding out a plate to Russ before setting his own plate on the table and retreating back to the kitchen for a couple beers. "I _am_ allowed to keep up to date with current movies, Russell."

"Didn't say you weren't; it's just a little outside of your usual Renaissance Era quotations." Russ ignores Milt in favor of taking a bite out of his sandwich, immediately surprised when it's apparently his favorite--turkey with lettuce, light mayo and mustard, and one slice of tomato. He raises an eyebrow at Milt who shrugs.

"I'm a stickler for details, what can I say?"

Russ wants to be annoyed. He wants to call Milt out on his bullshit and how this whole situation is bullshit and that his _face_ is bullshit, but he doesn't. Instead he eats his sandwich quietly, savoring it, because it's the one good thing he's had happen to him in the past twenty-four hours and, well, he's hungry, okay? To his credit, Milt allows the unusual silence from Russ, and casually turns on the tv to mask the absence of talking. He flips it to a Detroit Lions game that happens to be on and starts eating himself, acting like everything is normal and they always eat dinner together, and Russ can't help but wonder if being trapped in a safe house with Milt will really be as bad as he thought.

\------

Living with Milt isn't as bad as he thought, Russ thinks as he stands in front of the mirror in the bathroom, examining the ever-darkening bags under his eyes, it's _worse_.

It's been three days since the phone call from Valjean. Milt called Guziewicz that first day, explaining in general terms their situation and why they wouldn't be around for a while. Afterwards Russ got texts and emails from his co-workers, ranging from Holly's "Be careful, Russ!" to Jacocks' "safe house, huh? that what the kids are calling it these days?" to Font's "just don't kill him bro" He's probably going to murder Jacocks whenever he does get back, but he'll save her for after he murders Milt, who is even more infuriating in close quarters.

At first it’s okay. They eat dinner in relative silence, set up a schedule for who gets the bed, who makes meals, who does the dishes, etc. One of Milt's FBI goons agrees to bring them groceries a couple times a week as long as it’s necessary, and they have cable, internet, and a decent selection of DVDs and books. They've both had to turn off their personal phones in exchange for burn phones and there’s one laptop for them to share, but they have ties to the outside world, which is important in case Valjean attacks and they need backup or an ambulance. Overall, this is the best safe house that Russ has ever had to stay at, with the exception that he’s sharing it with Milt, who is somehow more anal retentive in a domestic setting than he is in the workplace. It's honestly amazing that he didn't pack a bunch of suits to bring with him for their duration there.

It'd be better, Russ imagines as he splashes his face with water one-handedly--as if he could wash away the tiredness he feels--if Milt would give up his act while they are stuck together 24/7. Russ could handle it all more easily if he felt like he was stuck in an apartment with a human and not some kind of uptight robot.

He eats pizza with a fork. He _insists_ on coasters. The bed gets made immediately after waking up, even if he’s the one who sleeps on the couch, and he fusses at Russ when he opts to go to the bathroom first instead of straightening sheets. Meals are frustratingly healthy and almost even more frustratingly perfect and delicious when Milt makes them, and Russ doesn't want to talk about how all he knows how to make are eggs, grilled cheese, and spaghetti. Milt makes tiny, soft _judging_ noises whenever Russ changes the channel to a movie, and when it’s Milt's turn to control the remote, he always, without fail, puts it on some documentary that he always manages to find. He actually does take thirty minutes to an hour in the bathroom every morning, which had just been a joke Russ told in his head until it gets proven to be accurate. When he isn't sitting, reading a book, checking his email, or watching tv, he’s cleaning or rearranging. It’s like he can't stay still unless he has an objective, and when that objective is complete, he has to fiddle around until he gets the next objective in--presumably from Anal Special Agent Robot Headquarters.

Needless to say, it's driving Russ slowly insane. He's used to the way he spends his downtime--the few times he does have it or is forced to take it--in which he vegges out in front of his tv, catching a game or two, watching movies or trash tv. He got an XBOX two years ago, so he plays Call of Duty or Assassin's Creed sometimes too. Mostly he does nothing important and he's cool with that, in fact he prefers it.

Which is why it's so goddamn _infuriating_ that Milt seems to think that Russ should also not be sedentary.

"Come on, Russ! It'll be fun." Russ doesn't even look over to where Milt is doing his stretches, getting ready for the thirty minutes of exercises he does every day.

"I'm great, actually. Knock yourself out." It's only the second time Milt has asked if Russ wanted to join in on the workout, but already Russ feels like the question adds a year to his life.

"You can't possibly mean that. Surely you want to get moving for at least a _little_ bit. It's been four days since we've left this apartment! Don't you want to get your blood pumping?"

"I move enough walking around." Russ shrugs and continues scrolling through the tv guide to see what's on currently. "I've been stuck in places longer and with stricter conditions; I'm golden."

"Okay, that's fine, I understand. You stay there with...what are you watching again?"

Feeling his hackles rise, Russ grinds his teeth and answers, "Keeping Up With the Kardashians."

"Right." Milt pats the edge of the couch, inches away from Russ' bad shoulder, before moving closer to the bed where there's enough room. "You'll know where I'll be if you change your mind, Russell."

He doesn't--change his mind that is--because he doesn't want to be shown up by Milt when he's trying to relax, but it's also impossible to ignore him too. The volume of the tv can only be raised so much to cover the sound of grunts and panting before Russ feels like a passive aggressive child and leaves it, only slightly miffed that he's obligated to leave the channel on the Kardashians until the episode is over. Lucky for him though, Milt's workout gets interrupted by his phone going off.

"Special Agent Milt Chamberlain." Milt's phone had been on the kitchen window bar, so Russ can watch him out of the corner of his eye as he talks. "Really? Okay. Uh-huh. Great. Thanks for the update."

Russ watches as Milt puts his phone back down, running a hand through his hair, slowly exhaling, before turning towards the bathroom. Curious about the phone call, but not quite intrusive enough to get up and check the phone himself to see who called, Russ settles back into the couch, flipping the channel to GSN simply to have some noise going on as he watches the bathroom door for when Milt comes out.

It's the usual half hour before Milt exits the bathroom. For some reason it shocks Russ when he comes out with only a towel wrapped around his waist; he'd known that Milt hadn't gone in with clean clothes to change into, just the ones in which he'd been exercising. He also doesn't know why he stares--it's not like he's never seen a shirtless dude before, though admittedly Milt is probably the most built guy he's seen in a while--but thankfully Milt is too inwardly focused to even seem to notice Russ at all. Milt goes back towards the bedroom area and starts pulling out clothes.

Forcing himself to look back at the tv, Russ calls out, "So what'd we learn?"

The shuffling of clothing pauses for a moment. "I'm sorry?"

"The phone call before your shower--what was it about?"

Silence again, with a faint rustling of fabric. "Oh nothing; the FBI's tracked Valjean to a warehouse just outside of Battle Creek. I was going to head there and take care of this."

"By yourself."

"That's the plan."

"Well that's a stupid as fuck plan." Milt walks into view, standing next to the coffee table, but not in front of the tv. His eyebrows are furrowed like he's confused by Russ' words. Russ rolls his eyes. "This whackjob is determined to kill you, and you're going to walk out there _alone_ and _without_ backup? That's like serving yourself up on a silver platter, with a glass of wine and that little green leaf on the side."

"Garnish."

"What the fuck _ever_ \--you're not going alone."

Milt places one hand on his hip and stares down at Russ, who is sitting on the couch and is suddenly keenly aware that his right arm is still in a sling. "Well, you're sure not coming with me. He's already shot you once. I'm not going to risk him doing it again, let alone on purpose."

Russ stands up, wincing a little when his shoulder twinges, but he faces Milt regardless. "And like hell will I let my partner go out there against some batshit crazy French guy, when I still have one perfectly good hand for holding a gun."

"You're _right handed_ , Russ."

"Congratulations on paying attention, Special Agent of the Obvious, but I can also fire with my left hand." He locks eyes with Milt, refusing to look away even for a second. This guy is an enormous pain in Russ' ass, but like hell is he going to allow his partner to go on a suicide mission when he has the power to help.

Eventually Milt sighs. "Fine; get ready."

Russ walks over to his bag and pulls out his gun, holding it in his left hand as he faces Milt. "I'm ready."

That makes Milt chuckle, which Russ supposes is probably a genuine reaction, so he grins as he steps forward.

"Let's go kick his ass."

\------

Milt might actually be the most cleverly disguised idiot in the history of mankind, which is a bold statement coming from Russ Agnew.

"You're a fucking idiot, do you know that?" Russ crouches behind a metal barrel as bullets whiz over head, right where he'd just been standing. "Because only a _fucking idiot_ would go meet the fucker trying to kill them without backup _at the place the killer chose_."

"I did urge you not to come along." Milt is kneeling next to him behind another barrel, a small rip on the left shoulder of his suit jacket from where a bullet grazed him. "I can handle this."

"Handle this? Are you blind _and_ dumb? You would've been dead before you entered the damn building if I hadn't come with you."

"Detective? Chamberlain? Please show yourselves. It will make everything go much faster." Valjean's voice echoes over to them, and Russ swears that he's going to punch him in the face--dead or alive--when this is over.

"Yeah, yeah hold on for a second, Frenchie!" yells Russ, silently wishing he could stand up because his knees are starting to ache. He turns back to Milt, who is watching him, an eyebrow raised. Russ continues, "Now we're going to come up with a plan, catch this son of a bitch, and then you're going to tell me why the fuck he hates you so much, classified or not."

"Russell, the regulations state--"

"I don't give a damn what the regulations do or do not state. I don't give a flying _fuck_ if I don't have the appropriate clearance level. I've been through way too much shit this past week on your behalf, so you're going to pay me back with good beer, greasy pizza, and the whole damn story."

For a second, Russ thinks Milt's going to try and get around his conditions again, but apparently there is something human to Milt Chamberlain because he sighs and nods. "Yes, fine. What's the plan?"

Grinning wildly, he gestures towards the label on the barrels they're hiding behind that indicates the contents as highly flammable. "How do you feel about having things flambéd?"

\------

As Russ gets checked over by an EMT for the second time in a week, he has to admit to himself that things could've gone a _lot_ worse.

"You know," begins Commander Guziewicz as she strides up to where he sits, perched on the back of an ambulance, "the two of you are lucky that the water hadn't been cut off to this warehouse yet."

"To be honest, Guz, I think we're lucky the plan worked at all." He winces as the EMT pats his shoulder, wiping away the blood from where his gunshot wound has reopened slightly from when he had to throw himself to the ground in order to dodge the explosion.

Guziewicz huffs, an indulgent smile on her lips. "I'm going to go ahead and order you to take the next week off, and _pray_ that somehow in that time you don't find yourself in even more trouble."

He wants to haggle with her because a week away from work on top of everything sounds _torturous_ , but her eyes are telling him to suck it up. "I'll do what I can."

"Yeah, sure," she murmurs as she walks back over to where Font and Funkhauser are talking with the FBI agents who showed up to the scene minutes after the explosion. Turned out Milt is, in fact, _not_ stupid enough to answer Valjean's ploy without backup; he just wanted to make it seem like he had in case Valjean had somehow planted a bug in or around their safe house. Russ is annoyed at himself for also falling for it, but happy to say that Milt didn't get to walk away without a scratch.

"How's it feel to be human?" asks Russ as Milt approaches his ambulance, suit jacket off and left sleeve rolled up so that gauze could be wrapped around the graze Milt’s received due to the last shot Valjean managed to get off before the barrel exploded. He too has a sling now, though Russ is pretty sure his at least is unnecessary.

Milt smiles at him--it's a little more crooked and playful than he's used to, and it throws Russ off slightly, "I got to admit, Russ, it feels good."

"I'd ask how it feels to take down an international assassin, but I have a feeling that wasn't the first."

"Probably not the last either," adds Milt as he leans his good shoulder on the door of the ambulance. Shifting his attention to the EMT, he inquires, "Will he have to go to the hospital?"

The EMT looks down at Milt, clearly unimpressed with either of them. "Both of you probably should, as a precaution, but I have a feeling neither of you cares much about that."

"It's not our first tango with bullets, so no, not really." Russ forces himself not to wince as the cut above his eye gets a butterfly bandage. "As long as we're not dying, I don't see the point."

Grumbling under his breath about stubborn cops, the EMT eventually backs away from Russ, taking off his latex gloves and throwing them away in the trash can. "You'll certainly live to see another day, Detective Agnew."

"Thanks, Jimmy," says Russ as he hops down, steadying himself for a moment before walking away, Milt trailing behind him, "See you next time!"

"You're on a first name basis with the EMT."

Looking over his shoulder at Milt, Russ smirks at him, "I busted his deadbeat step-dad for using his mom as a punching bag a couple years ago; he gripes 'cuz he gives a shit."

Milt doesn't say anything back until they reach their car, which is parked further away from the police and ambulances due to their attempt at stealth. They both look up, their slings mirroring each other's, and Milt states, "Neither of us can drive."

"Well, shit."

\------

Font eventually agrees to drive them back to the safe house so they can get their stuff. Russ sits in the back while Milt gives directions from the passenger seat. It takes ten minutes longer than it should've to get all their stuff together from the safe house because each of them only has one good hand and Font gets in the way more than he helps. Plus, somehow, over the course of less than a week, their things have managed to intermingle enough that they're handing each other lost socks or a misplaced shirt. Off to the side, Russ sees Font leaning against the kitchen bar, smirking at them now that he's given up trying to assist, and Russ isn't sure why it's making his skin itch.

When they get back into the car, Russ insists on being dropped off first. He reasons it by saying his apartment is closer--which it is--but it's honestly because he's afraid of being in the car alone with Font.

As he shuts his front door behind himself, he exhales slowly.

He sets down his bag in the entryway and moves immediately into the kitchen to grab a beer before making his way to his couch. Whatever it is Font thinks he saw back at the safe house, Russ is now determined to focus on repressing the hell out of it.

\------

A knock on his door wakes Russ up an hour later. He's still jumpy from that day's events, so he sticks his gun into the back of his pants before answering it.

"Two large pizzas, meatlover's and vegetarian?" asks the kid standing there, two boxes held out towards Russ.

His mouth opens, prepared to inform her that she has the wrong place because Russ would _never_ order a vegetarian pizza _ever_ , when a voice down the hallway calls out, "That's right!"

Both Russ and the delivery girl turn to see Milt jogging towards them, his good hand carrying a twelve pack of beer.

"That'll be $21.65," says the girl, only the smallest of smirks betraying what she thinks.

"Sure thing, just give me a second. Russ can you hold this?" Milt hands the beer over to him so that he can pull out his wallet and hand the pizza girl a twenty and a five. "Keep the change," he adds with a smile.

"Thanks! You two have a good night." She _winks_ at Russ as Milt takes the pizza boxes from her, and if he isn't sure of the fact that she's a minor, he might've done something he'd regret.

Instead he faces Milt, who's grinning at him, and asks, "What the hell are you doing here?"

" _Well_ ," begins Milt, grin growing slightly wider as he nods down to the pizza and beer, "I have it on good authority that not only is Arcadia Ales one of the best beers in Battle Creek, but that Johnnie's Pie has some of the greasiest pizza this side of the Appalachians."

It takes Russ a while for him to remember the deal he'd made with Milt before shooting the barrel. It takes even longer for him to get over his shock that Milt is keeping his word, so he can step aside and let the other man into his apartment. Milt walks right in, as if he'd been over dozens of times, and sets the pizza boxes on Russ' coffee table while Russ shuts the door before taking the twelve pack to put it in the fridge.

"You didn't expect me to follow through, did you?" Russ absolutely _does not_ flinch when Milt's voice comes from just behind him. He focuses on opening the case one handed so he can get them beers to start off with. "You thought I'd pretend the conversation never happened."

"Plates are in the cabinet to your right," is all Russ says as he digs his bottle opener out of a drawer. Wordlessly Milt gets some out, following Russ back into his living room.

They're sitting on the couch, plates laden with pizza and the tv still on Sports Center, when Milt speaks, "He was my best friend."

He looks at Milt, pizza slice still held up to his mouth. "Excuse me?"

Milt scoffs, setting his plate down on top of his pizza box before taking a drink of his beer. "Valjean--not his real name, obviously, just a codename--was my best friend back in grade school."

"So at what point did he evolve from that to wanting to kill you?"

"I moved to Tehran during my last two years of high school. My father, he's..." Milt shakes his head, and the look in his eyes is so distant that Russ can't even bring himself to point out his question doesn't involve Iran. "Let's just say my father is a wealthy businessman leave it at that. Valjean's father had died when he was young, and his mother didn't know what to do with him as he grew older and started getting into trouble. While I was there, I could keep him out of jail, but when I left Monaco, he fell in with a bad crowd. Drugs were involved I think, but most importantly he got into debt with some powerful people. He came to me a few years ago asking for help; he was in deep with the third most powerful Italian mob boss."

He stops talking, and Russ puts his own plate down on the table, chewing his last bite thoughtfully. "You turned him away?"

Milt shrugs, throwing his beer back for much longer than a simple drink. "I was part of the Bureau by then, still a rookie agent. I could barely afford my apartment on my salary; there was no way I had the spare cash to give _or_ lend him to pay off his debts."

"What about your--"

"My father would have sooner given all his money to charity than give me what Valjean needed." He meets Russ' eyes, a small sardonic smile gracing his lips. "I guess dismal relationships with our fathers is something we have in common."

Russ leans back, carrying his beer with him. "At least yours was even around."

He laughs, and it's something dark and broken and Russ never wants to hear it again from anyone, let alone _Milt_. "Yeah, well, I'd say maybe I would've been better off without him around, but then again I might not be who I am today if he hadn't. Anyway, Valjean didn't take well to me saying no. Next thing I hear is he's found a way to make up his losses and then some, and has put out a hit on me."

"That's a little extreme isn't it?"

"Not to him, apparently, but that's neither here nor there. The point is, the FBI joined forces with Interpol, got his assets and accounts frozen, and put him on most if not all the wanted lists around the world. The hit got rescinded, and the case got passed along until it became cold. Nobody's heard from him in years; I'd just assumed his deeds had gotten the better of him finally. His mother certainly never seemed to know what became of him." Russ raises an eyebrow at him, and Milt reaches for his plate again as he says, "I send her letters a couple times a year. It's the least I can do."

"What are you going to tell her about today?"

"The truth."

He thinks back to the image of Valjean being wheeled away into an ambulance, his arms handcuffed to the gurney and two FBI agents riding with him to the hospital. "How do you think she'll handle it?"

"I imagine she'll be happy he's still alive, but other than that I'm not sure." Milt starts eating his pizza, his eyes distant and focusing somewhere over Russ' tv. "I'm not even sure how I feel about it."

Both of them fall silent for a while, just eating pizza and drinking beer, the tv now playing a Packers game from the previous week. As they sit there, Russ tries to figure out Milt Chamberlain for what feels like the hundredth time. It's hard to reconcile this image of Milt--imperfect yet genuinely caring and with paternal problems that could rival his own--with the lingering image of the robot he'd spent the last few days with. He's aware that this could all be bullshit again, like the story about 9/11, but there's something about Milt's demeanor that doesn't even make him feel the need to double check his story. Believe him, Russ _wants_ to be skeptical; he's spent his whole life second-guessing people's stories and motives. It's _comfortable_ for him not to take people at their word, and he's had more than enough practice distrusting the things that Milt says.

He looks at him again, Milt's eyes still staring off into nothing, and Russ wishes he knew what exactly it is about this moment that makes him believe Milt. Sure, he thinks that some of the details are a little questionable. He doesn't understand why he was taken to Iran of all places after living in Monaco for most of his life, only to end up in the United States as an adult, but the heart of the story--about Valjean and his father and the debt-- _that_ he believes. If anything, if Milt _is_ lying, then Russ reasons that hey, he’s believed in worse, like his mother when she said she wouldn’t go to prison again.

The feeling from earlier comes back, and he stuffs pizza in his mouth to stop himself from saying anything he'll regret.

"You know what I think, Milt?"

Brown eyes turn to meet his, and Russ may or may not have stopped breathing for a second as he comprehends that he's about to do a very _dumb_ thing.

"What do you think, Russ?"

"I think...that you're a good man."

Milt's eyes widen in surprise. He cocks his head a little to the side as he asks, "Really? _You_ , the guy who has repeatedly said I was born in hell, thinks I'm a _good man_?"

Russ averts his eyes, choosing to focus instead on the football as it soars over the post in a field goal. He's definitely going to regret this later, but what the fuck. It's been that kind of week anyway. "I didn't say you don't still piss me the hell off, or that you wouldn't be voted 'Most Likely to Actually Be a Cyborg' for your high school superlatives. I just said you're a good guy, that's it."

"Am I good guy that you trust though?"

The question throws Russ for a loop, even though after everything that's happened he honestly should've expected it. He doesn't meet Milt's eyes again because he's not sure if he can, but he does pluck up enough courage to mumble, "You might be a sociopathic son of a bitch, but yeah I think I just might."

"Russ?" Against his better judgment--which granted hasn't been in top form today--Russ looks over at Milt to discover he's smiling softly at him, and it abso- _fucking_ -lutely does not make his stomach clench or anything so dramatic. "Thank you...for trusting me. It means a lot."

He opens and shuts his mouth a couple times until he manages to reply, "Just 'cuz I sorta trust you now doesn't mean I'll believe everything you say. It only means I'll give you the benefit of the doubt more often."

That, if anything, makes Milt's smile brighten, and Russ hurriedly picks up another slice of pizza to distract himself from it. They're both quiet again for a while when Milt breaks it by saying, "You're a good guy too, Russell."

He grunts in response because he already has plans to kick his own ass later, and he certainly doesn't need another reason. Milt accepts it though, and they sit on Russ' couch for the rest of the night, eating pizza, drinking beer, and watching tv.

\------

By the time that Guziewicz allows Russ back into the precinct, he and Milt have hung out three times, in addition to that first night after catching Valjean--not that Russ has been _counting_ or anything. He's also hung out with Font and the rest of the guys several times, though every time Font watches him like he's expecting Russ to blurt out something important. These moments are the ones where Russ ignores Font and laughs a little harder at Funkhauser or Niblet's joke, but Font doesn't actually say anything so neither does Russ.

He sees Holly once or twice because sometimes she'll come with the gang to the bar, but she never stays long. Mostly she smiles after making sure Russ is alright and then leaves, citing a need to go to bed early. Russ knows the truth though, that she's going home to study or prep for an interview, and it fills him with a little bit of uncertainty, the thought of her leaving Battle Creek. Don't get him wrong, he's excited and proud she’s trying for law school, but at the same time he's having a hard time with the idea Battle Creek without her around. The only people he hasn't seen since the day he and Milt brought down Valjean are Guziewicz and Jacocks, with only the latter being intentional.

Therefore, due to the natural order of the universe, Jacocks is the first person he encounters his first day back.

"Hey there, Russ!" calls out her voice from behind him. He finishes adding sugar to his coffee before picking up his mug and turning around to face her.

"Morning, Jacocks."

"I hear from Funk that you've been hanging out with Milt more; you finally get over your jealousy or something?" Her face is neutral, but Russ has known her long enough to read between the lines to see the smug amusement in her eyes.

"I was never _jealous_ , Jacocks; I just didn't trust him."

"And now you do?" He'd been about to go back to his desk, to ignore her and start on the paperwork that has somehow piled up while he was out, but he stops, mug halfway to his mouth. She smirks and damnit he's gotten really bad at playing things off lately. What the fuck is going on with him? Jacocks barrels over his misstep. "You _do_. You _trust_ him."

Her emphasis of the word almost makes it sound like a different word--a word that Russ isn't sure he's ever really associated with someone besides his childhood dog, Cash, or his mother when he forgets to be bitter. Russ carries on and takes a big gulp of his coffee, immensely grateful for the burn because it gives him something to concentrate on besides the thumping of his heart. He's still drinking when the others start arriving, interrupting Jacocks' interrogation by congratulating Russ on his return. She mouths 'later' at him, and boy does Russ almost wish he'd asked Guz for another couple days off. However there would have been no way to do that without arousing suspicion, so Russ is stuck at his desk, fielding knowing and smug glances from Font _and_ Jacocks, while everyone carries on with the day as per usual.

"Russell! Nice to have you back at work!" He can't help that his head jerks up at Milt's voice now, and he's positive that everyone takes notice of that, when he usually slides further down in his chair like he's trying to hide from the man. Milt walks over to him, heedless of the chaos he's still wreaking in the BCPD office, and clasps Russ' shoulder. "It isn't the same around here without you, Detective."

The overly false and cheery facade is back in full force, not that Russ is surprised, but he is a little disappointed. Over the past week, Milt has managed to relax bit by bit whenever they would hang out--usually at Russ' though there was one time at Milt's so they could watch the game on that tv. The last time, Russ got away without using coasters _and_ successfully got Milt to put his feet up on the table without prompting from Russ first. He realizes now that of course Milt isn't going to let down his meticulously constructed fake personality walls around their co-workers _. That_ is wishful thinking.

"Thanks, Milt," is all Russ says in response, and if Milt is hurt by his sudden brusqueness, then he doesn't show it. Somehow they come to an unspoken agreement to leave their budding friendship at the door of the municipal building, and inside they're back to the status quo of false optimism and bitter gruffness.

"Agnew, Chamberlain!" They turn their heads together, looking at Guziewicz where she stands in the doorway of her office. "My office, now."

Russ gets up, bringing his coffee with him as he walks ahead of Milt into the Commander's office. "What's up, Guz?"

He thinks it's going to be about Valjean, about the aftermath, or _something_ , but instead Guziewicz holds out a file that Milt takes. "Got a case to celebrate your return, Russ. A guy went missing two days ago, and his boss told Font that he's been known to gamble and not very well."

"We'll get right on it, won't we Russ?" He nods in response to Milt. "Thank you, Commander."

Guziewicz catches Russ' eyes as they leave, clearly curious as to why Russ isn't immediately lodging a complaint about working with Milt, but Russ pretends that he's too busy drinking his shit coffee to say anything. He follows Milt out of her office and through the desk maze that is the BCPD detective’s squad office space. Russ only stops for a moment by Holly's desk when she hands him a muffin that she got him. He gives her a small half-smile, pointedly ignoring the looks Jacocks sends his way as he leaves their office and goes across the hall to Milt's, taking a bite of the muffin as he walks past his secretary. They have a case to solve.

\------

Things return to normal after that, or at least something symbolizing normal.

It takes a while, but eventually both Font and Jacocks get tired of trying to talk to Russ or insinuate ulterior motives he might have. Cases get solved, criminals are caught, and Russ manages to maintain his sanity. He and Milt keep hanging out semi-regularly, and Russ keeps a tight lid on any and all feelings that Milt hasn't already seen and/or guessed about--aka the whole 'sort of crush on Holly' thing, which, honestly, is gradually becoming less and less of a problem.

Not that Milt seems to have noticed that Russ has stopped glancing over at Holly when the opportunity arises because even after the whole 'who sent the flowers?' debacle, Milt is still trying to comfort Russ about the whole affair.

"You don't know that it'll last," offers Milt out of the blue one of the few nights they were hanging out at his apartment--not once has either of them mentioned how Milt is still at the safe house from his first week in Battle Creek even though it was supposed to be temporary.

Russ furrows his eyebrows, focus remaining on the game playing on the tv. "You mean the Lions' streak? Because I beg to differ."

"No, Russ, I was talking about _Holly_." It takes a lot of effort not to choke on his sip of beer, but somehow Russ manages.

"What _about_ Holly?"

Milt sighs like Russ is being difficult, which he's not--on purpose anyway. "Don't play ignorant, Russ; we both know what I mean."

He coughs, using it as a way to wait a couple seconds, before replying, "It doesn't matter if it lasts or not. Holly's my friend and co-worker, nothing more."

"I thought we were past this."

"Past what?"

"Blatantly lying to each other." That makes Russ pause because holy shit when did that happen?

"I'm not _lying_ , Milt. I kept telling you that I wasn't in love with her; it was just a crush." When Milt doesn't say anything right away, Russ finally looks away from the game--it's halftime anyway and the Lions are up by two touchdowns--and meets Milt's gaze. "What?"

"You said it _was_ a crush, as in you've _moved on_."

Russ shifts, inching further into the couch and away from Milt. "Yeah, so what if I have? It's not a big deal. I'm a grown man; I can get over a _crush_." Unless they're some kind of unbidden crush on his aggravating FBI partner, but like hell are those words going to leave Russ' mouth _ever_.

"Good for you, Russ." Milt smiles, patting Russ' shoulder and then letting his hand rest there for a minute. "I'm proud of you."

Clearing his throat, Russ nods, croaking out, "Thanks."

He doesn't relax until Milt's hand is gone, and even then he can't help but be hyper aware of Milt's presence in a way he hadn't been earlier. They both return to the game again, listening as the commentators go over plays from the first half again. Russ starts to ease back into the couch again when Milt speaks, "What helped you move on?"

Having not expected further inquiry on the matter, Russ can't say he really blames himself for dropping his beer bottle onto the floor. The bottle falls and the resulting shatter makes Russ wince before he looks down to see beer seeping out from the broken bottle. "Shit."

"I got it, I got it," chants Milt as he practically jumps up from the couch and races to the kitchen to grab some towels. Russ starts picking up the bigger shards of glass, thankful that only the neck of the bottle broke, allowing him to place the pieces into the now empty base of the bottle. Milt jogs back in before he can finish, and between the two of them it takes hardly any time at all for the mess to be cleaned up.

Russ is washing his hands in the kitchen sink as Milt throws the towels into the washer when he says, "I might've found someone else."

"What?" Milt leans on the counter next to him, watching him carefully. Russ thinks it's not too late--he can back out, take back what he said, make it into something else--but he doesn't.

"I sorta...found someone else." He glances up at Milt for a second as he dries his hands, checking to see if his eyes are still on him. "Y'know, to 'crush' on, or whatever."

"Oh really?" Russ tries really hard not to focus on how the curiosity in Milt's voice makes his body heat up. "Anyone I know?"

He huffs, hands gripping the edge of the sink as he replies, "Seeing as even though you're still new in town and yet know _everyone_? Probably."

"Do I get to know her name then, or am I going to have to figure it out?"

_Her_ . Russ breathes in, suddenly unsure if he's actually ready for a confession of this magnitude. After all, what if he's wrong? He's only just started to tolerate the guy a few _weeks_ ago, and Lord knows when the last time he even had a date with someone--let alone a _relationship_ \--was. He second guesses himself long enough for doubt to wedge its way back in, and Russ' resolve falters. _Next time_ , he tells himself.

"I'm afraid that's classified," is the excuse Russ comes up with, and Milt chuckles at it being parroted back at him.

"Yeah, yeah okay. Every man is entitled to his secrets."

Russ watches as Milt walks out of the kitchen, and the only thing passing through his mind is: 'You would know, wouldn't you, Milt?'

\------

Life, it seems, has it out for Russ because barely a month into Valjean's incarceration, the asshole escapes. While that itself is annoying and troublesome, the worst part is that Russ doesn't find out until a week after the fact, from _Niblet_.

"When the _fuck_ were you going to tell me that jackhole busted out?!" He storms into Milt's office, past his secretary--does she have a name? is that even the same one he's always had?--and heedless of the fact Milt is on the phone.

"I'll have to call you back, Madam Secretary," says Milt, calmly as ever, into the phone before he hangs up. He folds his hands together on top of his desk and meets Russ' eyes. "Hello, Detective, how may I help you?"

"Cut the bullshit _act_ , Milt; when the hell were you going to tell me about Valjean?!"

"As previously discussed, the circumstances around Valjean are highly classified, and your clearance level--"

His own hands slam on Milt's desk, causing the monitor to jostle slightly and Milt to push back in his chair. "I don't give a fucking _damn_ about my clearance level, Milt. This madman is out to get you killed. You can't just _not tell me_ he's escaped from prison!"

Eyes cool, the momentary surprise having passed in milliseconds, Milt stands up, brushing imaginary specks off his bespoke suit. "On the contrary, Russell, I _can_ just 'not tell you' about matters pertaining to cases miles above your pay grade. Valjean is none of your concern; he is a subject the _Bureau_ is dealing with, not Battle Creek."

"What, so I'm just gonna have to suck it up that some Frenchman with an outdated vendetta has it in for one of my best friends? Because let me tell you, _Milton_ , that does not sit well with me." Russ' hands are clenched into fists at his side, and he's working on controlling his breathing after yelling maybe a tiny smidge louder than he intended. He really hopes no one on the other side of the building heard him.

"Russ," begins Milt, his voice softer and his posture more relaxed, "The Bureau has it covered, I promise. I've got a detail that follows me to and from work every day. There are taps on all my tech, and someone keeping track of my location every second of every hour. We're _prepared_ for Valjean this time. It's fine."

"You don't know that." He's being petulant, sure okay, but it's his only response when Milt's reassurances actually make his breathing slow down. "There's no possible way you know it's going to be fine."

"You're right." Russ lifts his eyes to meet Milt's again; the son of a bitch smiles at him. "I can't know for sure, but I can have faith that it will."

"You don't really seem the religious type, if you don't mind me saying."

"Faith isn't only for the pious, and right now I'm going to have to ask you to have faith in the Bureau--in _me_."

Milt is standing in front of him now, hands on Russ' shoulders like he has to hold him in place to maintain their eye contact, which isn't a stretch really since Russ wants to turn tail and run. Instead he exhales, fists unclenching, and quietly murmurs, "Just don't be a goddamn idiot, Chamberlain."

Grinning now, Milt gives Russ a gentle shake and replies, just as quietly, "I wouldn't dream of it, Detective."

Russ leaves Milt's office after that, but he doesn't return to his own desk. Rather he goes for a walk, surveys the perimeter of the block, checking to make sure the FBI is protecting their most valuable asset properly. If anyone finds it odd that Russ disappears for thirty minutes in the middle of a shift, only to come back and sit at his desk without a word, they don't say anything. The only inclination Russ even gets that his worries are felt by the rest of his co-workers is when Funkhauser brings him the last eclair and a fresh cup of coffee.

The day proceeds normally from there, though it escapes no one when Milt leaves the building that evening, two agents trailing after him, or when Russ goes home ten minutes later.

\------

There is no warehouse on the outskirts of town, conveniently filled with barrels of flammable liquid, this time.

No, this time it's a crime scene--a guy and his dog attacked by a coked out punk--and there are cops and agents everywhere. Russ is at ease, casually arguing with Milt about his presumptions about their suspect with Milt saying they should wait to see what the evidence tells them, when suddenly there's a gunshot and Milt isn't eye level anymore.

The world erupts into chaos. People are running in every direction, they're outside after all-- _damnit_ , Russ should've insisted Milt wear a vest since they were gonna be exposed for so long--but it doesn't take long for him to find Valjean a few feet outside their established barrier. He glances down at Milt, loathe to leave his side, but Jacocks is already putting pressure on the ever growing red stain on Milt's crisp white shirt and Niblet is calmly talking to a dispatcher, reporting an agent down.

His gun is in his hand and fired before Russ comprehends more than the pistol in Valjean's left hand. The look of shock is worth it, Russ decides as he approaches, gun still raised in precaution. No one stands in his way, and by the time he reaches Valjean, the Frenchman has collapsed to his knees, gun-free hand clutching at the new hole in his chest.

"I did not expect such ferocity from you, Detective." Valjean isn't watching Russ; his eyes are on Milt's motionless body. "You had said that you were not friends."

"We weren't." Russ kicks the pistol out of Valjean's hand, perhaps a little more savagely than necessary. "Not then."

Valjean chuckles, blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth. "I see." For the first time, he locks eyes with Russ, and the smug triumph Russ sees makes him grip his gun tighter. "Not friends then, but maybe something else now, yes?" He coughs, sagging further to the ground, ambulance sirens growing closer in the background. "I might've known. He was curiously quick to hide after I called you."

"Shut the fuck up, Valjean, or I'll shoot you again." He won't--or rather can't now that the frenzy is over and people are watching--but that doesn't stop him from _wanting_ to do it.

"That is unnecessary, Detective; I believe your first shot was sufficient." He pauses for a moment, and Russ thinks he's about to stay quiet when he adds, "Valjean." It's like he's tasting the name on his lips for the first time. "Milton always did favor the classics. He rather fancied himself Javert growing up, so it seems nothing’s changed. Strange, is it not, Detective, that I am named after a man who is persecuted for crimes meant to save lives, when he identifies with one who foolishly attacks those who fight for justice."

Russ doesn't look over to Milt--doesn't need to see that EMTs have now arrived and are working on getting him onto a gurney. "No one ever said the FBI was prized for its literary analogies, pal."

Valjean tries to laugh, but gasps sharply in pain, which in turn makes him cough harshly, the blood flecks speckling the asphalt. "Perhaps, but it does beg the question of how you factor into this, doesn’t it?"

A second group of EMTs arrive then, preventing Russ from having to come up with a suitable answer to that loaded question. Valjean has the same penchant for cryptic riddles that Milt does, and distantly Russ wonders if that's who Milt gets it from.

Both Milt and Valjean get carted away, the ambulances rushing off, sirens blaring again as they maneuver around traffic. Russ gets into the passenger seat of Font's car, and lets himself be driven to the hospital.

The car is silent the entire way, the only things speaking at all are the glances Font gives Russ and the way Russ still has his gun gripped in his right hand.

\------

It takes maybe two minutes for Russ to get kicked out of the waiting area and sent to fetch everyone coffee. Holly walks with him, citing that he'll need help carrying the load back. They're halfway to the cafeteria when Holly speaks softly, "He'll pull through, Russ."

"No offense, but you don't know that." His voice sounds rough, making him wince when Holly smiles sadly up at him. He hasn't spoken since when he yelled at the nurse who almost hadn't let him up to the waiting area after misunderstanding his intetions.

"Milt is a healthy man. There's no reason for him _not_ to pull through."

"Yeah except the bullet that lodged itself in his ribs after passing inches away from his spine." Milt is still in surgery--has been for almost an hour with no sign of coming out soon. "So excuse me for not being a half full kinda guy right now."

Holly falls silent and Russ wants to kick himself for being a dick, but he's too damn keyed up to care. They get the coffees, even receiving some drink holders to make everything easier. On the way back, Holly remains quiet, and Russ is honestly grateful for it.

By the time they get back to the waiting room, there are more people than when they left, and suddenly there's not enough coffee. Font pats Russ on the shoulder-- _'he_ _knows_ ,' the voice in Russ' head whispers, it sounds an awful lot like his mom for some reason--and once again he sets off for coffee, Holly trailing along next to him.

"He's going to be fine," reiterates Holly, and this time Russ can only sigh.

"How can you believe that?" he asks, his tone defeated and pathetic.

Holly's hand reaches out and tugs lightly on Russ' sleeve to make him stop walking. He's about to ask why when she hugs him. It takes a second to register and another for him to reciprocate.

"I believe because I have _faith_ , Russ, so you have to have faith too, okay? For Milt, _and_ for yourself."

Russ will never admit to the way his hands bunch up the fabric of her jacket and how his head tucks itself down into her neck, but thankfully Holly never questions it. She wordlessly tightens her hold on him, and they stay that way for a moment.

Eventually Russ coughs, pulling away abruptly. "People'll be wanting their coffee."

"Right."

They continue walking, and Holly doesn't even twitch when Russ takes her hand in his, releasing it only when they get back to the waiting area.

\------

It's something like five hours--long, tedious, achingly slow--later that Milt comes out of surgery. The doctor tells them that he's going to be fine and that they can all go home for now to rest. Milt goes to ICU for the night, and the doctor reassures them that the nurses will watch him carefully and that agents will be allowed to guard him just in case.

Niblet goes home first--his wife and kids need him--and Funkhauser goes with because he was Niblet's ride there. Jacocks leaves to check in with Guziewicz and to provide backup, who's been stuck at the precinct dealing with the press and the situation. For a long time it seems like Font and Holly plan on sticking with Russ throughout his vigil--because he doesn't plan on going home until he can see Milt breathe. However, it's only another hour before Holly squeezes Russ' hand, the one she'd been holding for hours now, and whispers her apologies but she has an interview the next day and she has to get up early for it.

"Go, I'll be fine."

She meets his eyes, worry and skepticism rolling together. "Are you sure? Because if you need me, Russ, I can reschedule."

" _No_ , go to the interview. I'll keep you updated, okay?"

"Okay, but let me know if anything happens or you need me."

"Sure thing, now get out of here."

"Russ?" Holly smiles at him, tugging on his hand that's still holding hers around slightly. " _Faith_."

He nods, afraid of what his voice might do. She gives his hand a final squeeze before making her goodbyes to Font. When she's gone, Font stops pacing and sits next to Russ, hands held in front of him and eyes fixated on a portrait of a vase of sunflowers that can be found in every waiting area of the hospital.

"He's fine." It's Russ who says it, hoarse and tired, but they're the only two still in the waiting area for Milt now and it's Font--the guy who's helped him fight crime and budget cuts for years.

"He's fine," repeats Font.

"He's fine," Russ whispers, this time mostly to himself as he tries to ignore how his hands are shaking now that Holly's gone.

Font just nods, staying silent this time. They stay that way for awhile, the noises of the hospital going on around them, and Russ is downright _thankful_ for that not-quite quiet.

"I'm not going home," says Russ minutes later.

"I know," is all Font says, but in the way he leans back into his chair and grabs the nearest Sports Illustrated, Russ knows he's not going to be waiting alone, that Font had been waiting to see what Russ' plan was before making his own decision.

He focuses on the sunflowers again, counting all the different and annoying facts Milt would probably know relating to it.

"Thanks, Font."

Font grunts. "Man, shut up. I'm reading."

\------

When Russ wakes up the next day, Font is still in the chair next to him and Guziewicz is there talking with a nurse.

"You're awake." Guziewicz looks as exhausted as Russ feels. He's massaging the new kink in his neck as she fills him in on the situation. The FBI is handling most everything related to Valjean and the shooting, and she's made Niblet lead on the assault case in the meanwhile.

"What about me?"

She raises an eyebrow at him. "You? You're going to be here, probably until Milt is discharged, so I'm putting you on vacation days."

"Wait, _why_?" Dimly, Russ is aware that Font excuses himself to get coffee, but really he's too focused on the sad yet amused expression on Guziewicz's face.

"You're really a hopeless bastard, aren't you?" She sighs and sits down where Font had been. "I hate to be the one to inform you of this, Russell, but you've been _pining_."

Russ gapes for a second before retorting, "I don't _pine_."

"Oh yeah? Then what was that nonsense with Holly and the flowers?" He stares at her in horror, and she shrugs, a small indulgent smirk on her face. "I like to check in with Jacocks about office going-ons and gossip occasionally. Besides, it's _obvious_ that you've moved on from her to pining for someone else."

"It’s...obvious?"

"Not sure what else I'd call that bickering and longing glances across the hall. Then there's all the fleeting touches and veiled compliments. I’d think you two were hooking up if I didn’t know you were too blind to see it."

"I..." The wind has left Russ' sails completely. He can't think of a single thing to say, to contradict her, because when it's laid out like that, well...

"Don't worry, Russ; we're all pretty sure he's pining too in his own way."

Font comes back with coffee and some food from the cafeteria before he can ask Guziewicz what she means by _we_. By the time they finish eating, Milt has been moved out of ICU to his own room and can have visitors now.

Russ all but jogs to Milt's room, moving the second the nurse is done giving them his new room number.

\------

He hardly leaves the hospital for three days. The only reason Russ goes home at all is because Guziewicz orders him, and even then he’s only gone long enough to shower and change.

The doctor says it's fine. Milt should be waking up any moment now; it's normal for it to take a while to wake up after such a serious surgery.

Russ has started resting his hands near one of Milt's hands--not touching or holding, just close enough that he'd notice immediately if Milt moves. He pulls them back whenever someone comes in, even if it's just a nurse.

People drop by, bring flowers and cards. They talk at Milt and Russ, and leave when neither of them responds. The only words he speaks are to the doctor and nurses, asking about Milt’s condition, and to Holly or Guziewicz.

He doesn’t speak to Milt.

He wants to, but he’s afraid that if he admits to things that he’s spent so much time repressing, that he’ll be unable to reel it back in again--that he might break. It’s too big a risk when he doesn’t have someone to help put him back together afterwards.

Eventually, on the night of the third day, after night shift has clocked in, he finally takes Milt’s hand gently in his, prepared to drop it the instant he hears the door opening. His hand is warm, and Russ rests his forehead against their linked fingers. He feels like an idiot, acting like this, but he’s too stressed out to care right now.

“You’re a fucking jerk, you know that?” He’s watching the floor for a moment, composing himself and his thoughts, not sure what he’s going to say only knowing that he has to say _something_. Russ looks up so that he can keep an eye on the rise and fall of Milt’s chest as he speaks. “I hate you. I hate that you’re the kind of jackass who’d think going along with the bad guy’s directions without immediate backup is a good idea. I hate that you try to shield me from stuff you know I won’t like, and then try to play it off when I confront you about it. I hate that I was right next to you, but I couldn’t protect you.”

Russ sighs, his voice lowering to a soft whisper, more murmuring to himself than anything. “I hate that you’re doing this to me because it’s fucking annoying. _You’re_ fucking annoying, and I hate that I care--about you, about what you think of me. I especially hate that I don’t know what I’ll do if you’re not okay.

“So please,” he says, head bowed again, unable to watch Milt anymore, knowing he won’t be talking back, “please just wake up, you asshole.”

“Has anyone told you that your bedside manner is a bit unorthodox?”

He jumps as Milt’s hand squeezes his, and looks up to find Milt’s eyes open and staring at him, his dumb crooked smile directed at him. Russ is afraid that there might be a matching smile on his own face.

“You’re awake.”

“Talking is usually an indicator of that, yes.” Milt coughs, and Russ gets up to fetch him some water and to signal for a nurse. He’s holding the cup of water to Milt’s lips, helping him drink, when the doctor arrives with a nurse.

“Ah, Mr. Chamberlain, it’s good to see you awake for a change.”

“It’s good to be awake.”

It takes twenty minutes or so for the doctor to go over Milt’s chart, making sure that everything’s fine and working as it should--or as well as it can be considering. Russ waits in the hallway, his cup of weak hospital coffee in one hand as he calls Guziewicz and then Holly to tell them that Milt’s awake. He’s about to dial Font’s number when the doctor and nurse leave, and Russ decides everyone else will find out soon enough anyway.

When he walks back in, Milt is sitting up in bed, pillows piled behind him, and he’s drinking a fresh cup of water. As Russ makes his way back to the chair he’s been residing in for the past few days, Milt looks him up and down, assessing him.

“Are you okay, Russ?”

If the man hadn’t just finally woken up, Russ would be tempted to punch him in the face. Instead he chokes on the sip of coffee he’s taken.

“ _Me_?” Russ sets his coffee down on the little end table, pointing at himself incredulously, “You’re asking how _I’m_ doing, when _you’re_ the one in the hospital bed?!”

Milt tries to shrug, but winces before he even gets halfway through the gesture. “The bags around your eyes are darker than normal and your clothes are rumpled, both would imply that you haven’t gotten a lot of sleep recently.”

“You’re unbelievable. You were shot and then unconscious for _three days_. If anything, _you_ have gotten _too much_ sleep lately.” Russ sits on his hands because even though he’s frustrated at Milt, he wants to be holding his hand and that’s not something he’ll allow himself now that Milt’s awake.

“That doesn’t explain why you haven’t been sleeping, Russ.”

Caught, he sinks down into his chair, resting his head against the back of it. He sighs, and then tells the ceiling, “These chairs aren’t exactly comfortable, so it’s a wonder I’ve gotten any sleep.”

Silence follows, and it takes effort not to raise his head and meet Milt’s eyes.

“Russ…have you gone home at all?”

“Twice, actually.”

“Did they have to drug you?”

“No.” Russ shifts in his chair, eyes still on the speckled white ceiling panels. “Guz did threaten to put me in the hospital for real if I didn’t go home though.”

Milt coughs, though it might actually be a laugh, and Russ stands up to refill his cup, avoiding Milt’s eyes the entire time. He moves to sit back down when he’s done, set on waiting until someone else arrives before going home himself for more than an hour, but Milt grabs his wrist.

“Russ.” He stops, his gaze focusing on the monitor that shows Milt’s heartbeat--Russ has found himself doing that a lot, the steady blip reminding him Milt’s alive. Milt tugs lightly on Russ’ arm. “Russell, look at me.”

He does, reluctantly, and tries to keep his face impassive. “What? I’ll leave if you want me to, I just figured I’d stick around until someone else gets here to keep you company, but I’ll go now if--”

“I care about you too.”

Russ’ heart stops, and he’s glad that _he’s_ not the one hooked up to the machine so that no one else can see the way his heart beats faster. Milt’s grinning up at him, fingers still curled around his wrist, and Russ begins to think that maybe he did get shot instead of Milt again and this has all been some kind of coma induced nightmare.

“...What?”

“You’re sleep deprived, Russ, not deaf.”

He doesn’t reply because he can’t. It’s hitting him that Milt heard everything. Milt knows. He _knows_ because Russ _told him_ at his hospital _bedside_. The typical romantic drama parallels are suffocating, and suddenly Russ needs air that hasn’t been recycled through the hospital’s air filters.

“I have to go,” he mutters, pulling his arm out of Milt’s grasp.

Milt calls after him--asking him what’s wrong, where is he going, _Russ come back_ \--but he keeps walking. His feet carry him out past the nurses’ desk, down stairs, and through the front door of the hospital. He only stops when the bitter cold air of Battle Creek in mid-December smacks him in the face. The breaths he takes sting, but they allow him to center his thoughts again.

“Shit,” is all he can say when his brain finishes processing. He starts walking again, but it’s not back into the hospital. His car is still parked outside the municipal building, so it’s to the bus station he heads, grateful that at least he has his wallet on him.

\------

It's easier than he thinks it'd be to ignore everyone. The first time he rejects a call from Holly fills him with guilt, but after the third one, it's not as bad. He falls asleep on the couch, HGTV playing as white noise. He wakes up the next morning when someone knocks on his door. Russ remains on the couch, motionless, his eyes focusing on nothing, until they go away.

Objectively, Russ knows he should talk to someone, that he needs to talk to Milt again, to figure out on what level do they both care for each other, but just the idea of that terrifies him. So he stays on his couch, staring blankly at the tv, not really seeing it, and tries to forget the past few days--past few _weeks_. It's not really working so far. Case in point that when a number from the hospital calls in the afternoon, he doesn't even hesitate to answer.

"Hello?"

" _Oh, so you are alive, then_." The anxiety that has welled up in Russ at seeing the number dissolves and reforms into something else upon hearing Milt's voice. Something infinitely more confusing and unwanted.

"I just went home, Milt."

" _And as glad as I am to hear that because we all know you need sleep, you could've maybe said **goodbye** before running away_."

"I didn't--"

" _Russ you were out of here so fast, my head was nearly spinning_." Milt pauses, and Russ can hear someone talking to him in his hospital room. " _Holly asks that you let her know if you need anything,_ " he pauses again, " _and Font says to stop being a coward_."

"I'm _not_ being a coward."

" _Well you're not being exactly proactive, either_."

"Milt."

" _Russ_."

"I don't...I _can't_..."

" _This conversation can wait until I'm out of the hospital, Russ, but no longer than that, okay?_ "

He takes a breath, hand holding his phone tightly. "Okay."

" _Goodbye, Russ_."

"Bye, Milt."

Milt hangs up, and Russ relaxes on the couch, phone slipping out of his hand.

Yeah, this whole thing is going _awesomely_.

\------

Milt gets discharged from the hospital about a week later--the doctors keeping him longer to ensure that he wouldn't accidentally start bleeding from turning the wrong way--and Holly manages to con Russ into being the one who picks him up and drives him home.

"He's fine," begins the doctor as he hands Russ a couple pill bottles, painkillers and antibiotics, "but it would be best if he has someone nearby for at least the first couple days while he gets adjusted."

"Okay," says Russ, standing outside Milt's room as the other man gets dressed in the clothes Russ brought from his safe house/apartment.

The doctor smiles, placing a hand on Russ' shoulder. "I know you've been worried, Mr. Agnew, but he really _is_ fine now. All he needs is some rest and time." With a wink, the doctor adds, "No getting him too worked up though. His lungs aren't quite ready for that yet; I'd give him a couple weeks before you two do anything too strenuous."

Mouth hanging open, Russ is unable to form a response to the _doctor_ insinuating that he and Milt are about to go home and try to have sex. Thankfully he doesn't have to because Milt then comes out of the room--in sweatpants and a hooded sweatshirt--and the conversation gets redirected by the nurse who strolls up with the mandatory wheelchair.

"Ready to go home, Mr. Chamberlain?"

"Yes, sir."

The nurse also winks at Russ after they reach the doors and Milt stands up. Russ gives her a strained smile before leading the way to his car, Milt walking quietly beside him.

\------

Russ makes a stop at a Walgreens to pick up a few groceries that he thinks might be needed--he doesn’t know what state Milt’s kitchen is in, but better safe than sorry. Milt says nothing, staring out the passenger side window the whole time, and Russ can't think of anything to say himself. When they finally get to Milt's place, Russ concentrates on putting away the things he's bought, and when he heads to the living room, he sees that Milt has settled on the couch, feet propped up on his coffee table.

"Here." Russ hands Milt a glass of water and two of the pills he's supposed to take.

"Thanks," murmurs Milt, accepting them. He swallows the pills quietly, drinking about half the glass before trying to place it on the coffee table, grunting when he can't quite reach it. Russ takes it from him and does it for him.

Standing next to the couch, Russ scratches at the back of his neck. "Uh, well. The pills are by the kitchen sink; I got you some basic meals to fix too. I'll call Holly or someone to come and sit with you, and I'll just--"

"Russ." He shuts his mouth at Milt's soft voice, a little startled by the intense stare Milt has focused on him. "Sit next to me, please." He does, though he makes sure to keep his distant and not actually touch Milt at all. Milt sighs, moving so that he's more facing Russ than the tv. "You owe me a conversation."

"Do I?" Milt glares at him, and Russ musses up what little hair he has. "Okay, _fine_ , I do. I just didn't think you'd want to have it literally the day you got out of the hospital."

"When have you known me to be anything but a man of my word?"

Russ snorts, giving Milt a small smirk. "Want the short list or the long list?"

Milt rolls his eyes, but he's also smiling. "A fair point, but you know I would never lie to you when it counts, don't you?" Russ avoids Milt's gaze. Milt touches Russ' arm lightly. "Don't you?"

"I want to believe that, but sometimes it's hard to when you seem to lie so easily." They don't talk for a few seconds, and Russ resists the urge to glance at Milt to try and see what he's thinking.

Finally, Milt whispers, "So _that's_ why you ran away."

Confused as to how he got to that conclusion, Russ looks at him. He's surprised when Milt's face has settled into an amused expression. "Huh?"

"You thought I was lying about me caring about you, so you ran away," he explains it like it should be obvious, and Russ almost laughs in his face.

"That's not why I ran." Russ rolls his eyes and stands up again so he can pace. "Okay, maybe that was _sorta_ part of it, but I'm more complex than that. I wouldn't run away simply because I didn't believe you could have feelings for me."

Milt raises an eyebrow. "Fine. Why _did_ you run, if not solely because of that?"

"There's such a thing, Milt, as being _overwhelmed_. Not to mention _embarrassed_ because I had just said a lot of things that I hadn't expected you to hear, like... _ever_."

"Why say them if you didn't intend me to hear?"

"I don't know if you've never had a similar situation to this in your life, Milton, but sometimes people have to voice things to bring themselves comfort because keeping everything rattling around in your brain can kinda drive you nuts."

Eyebrows furrowing, Milt asks, "You wanted to say all of it, but not for the benefit of me possibly reciprocating, instead just to get it off your chest?"

"Yes."

"And now you are of the mind that we should pretend I never heard you, or said I care about you as well?"

"Basically...yeah."

Milt nods, and Russ stops pacing. He thinks maybe this whole thing will blow over a little, will resolve itself into 'okay so maybe I have feelings of some kind for you but I didn't mean for you to find out so let's going back to ignoring them please and thank you'. Except, he realizes that _really_ , he should know Milt better by now.

"I'm afraid that doesn't work for me, Russell." Milt locks eyes with him, and Russ doesn't care to admit what being fixed with Milt's 'going in for the kill' expression does to his stomach. "I don't think I want to ignore everything that's happened. We've come too far to just act like we don't care for each other."

"Milt, I--"

"No, how about you listen while I confess this time?” Milt takes a breath before leveling Russ with an expression that immobilizes him. “I hate that you're so stubborn and refuse to acknowledge you might be wrong until it's absolutely proven that you are. I hate that you don't exercise even though I'm sure it'd improve your ability to chase criminals if you did. I hate that you always pretend to not give a shit about anyone, when in reality you care a lot, but you're afraid of being hurt. But most of all, Russ? I hate that I have to lie to you because there's no one else that I'd rather know every aspect of my life."

Russ doesn't have anything to say to that, or rather he _can't_ speak because he honestly, somehow, never expected this. It doesn't matter that practically every single one of their co-workers has hinted at something being there, or that hell even the _hospital staff_ caught on to whatever it is. Russ is still stunned.

"Russ, what I'm trying to say is, I hate you too."

His mouth opens, finger pointed at the ceiling, but he pauses without a word escaping his lips. Milt is staring at him patiently, like he knows this will take some time to process, that he’s turning the tables and reusing Russ’ own speech template which, in a way, is copyrighted from _10 Things I Hate About You_.

After awhile though, Russ manages to go, “I’ll be right back,” before walking-- _not_ running--out the door. Milt calls his name once, but it gets muffled by the door shutting behind Russ.

\------

When he walks back into Milt’s apartment--though it’s as impersonal as it was that during that first case together, so it’s hardly _lived_ in--Milt’s still on the couch. The tv is on, but he’s clearly not paying attention to the guy droning on about bees and their hives because he’s on the phone.

“He just left! I tried calling, but his phone is still here.”

“That’s because I planned on coming back, dumbass.”

Milt turns, eyes a little wider than usual when he sees Russ, but after a second he smiles. “He came back; I’ll call you later.”

Russ walks closer and sits on the arm of the couch, facing Milt. Smirking down at him, he asks, “Did you really think I wouldn’t come back?”

“Well, you haven’t exactly set a great precedent…”

He snorts and nods. “Fair enough.”

The bee documentary goes to commercial, and not-Billy Mayes comes on for OxyClean. Milt interrupts him, “Why’d you leave?”

“Had to clear my head. Think about what you said.”

“And?”

“ _And_ , I think that maybe you’re telling the truth.”

Milt’s expression doesn’t really change--it’s still playful and curious--but his eyes betray that he’s hurt. “You doubted me.”

“I’ve always doubted you,” begins Russ, “I just also give you the _benefit_ of that doubt, and trust you some of the time. But this is _me_ , Milt, did you really think I’d go into this half-cocked and unsure about where I’d stand with you? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly _cavalier_ with my emotions.”

This time Milt snorts, but he’s also looking more thoughtful. “It’s impossible _not_ to notice, but I see your point.”

“You do.”

“Yes, and while it’s completely valid, I’d still prefer it if you let me in on what you’re doing _before_ you run out.”

Russ huffs. “Right, I’ll remember that for next time.”

Milt raises an eyebrow. “Next time?”

“Yeah because I imagine you’re not gonna stop being a secretive douche anytime soon.” Russ holds up a hand, silencing Milt. “I know, it’s because of work and shit’s classified and you’re a secret agent man, but _I’m_ still gonna have to sift through what you say and pick out the truth from the bullshit.”

“What if I preface things by saying whether it’s a lie or not?”

Now Russ raises an eyebrow at Milt, a small grin on his face. “Then _that_ could be a lie, and we’d be even closer to square one.” He thinks about it for a second, and then points at Milt. “How about you don’t say _any_ bullshit?”

“Elaborate.”

“Rather than trying to spin a load of bs, just tell me you can’t say, that it’s classified or you don’t feel ready to share yet or why the hell ever you don’t or can’t explain. That way, you’re not lying, and I don’t have to doubt you.”

“What about when we’re around your co-workers?”

Russ shrugs as he slides off the arm of the couch and onto the cushion next to Milt. “Around them I’ll make exceptions. They trust you enough as is, and if they’re content to accept your lies then that’s on them. I don’t want you lying to _me_ because I’ve had it up to here with liars and cons in my life. For once I’d like something a little more genuine. Think you can manage that, Chamberlain?”

Milt’s smiling at him, one arm on the back of the couch while the other rests on his lap. “Yeah, I think I can, Detective.”

“Great. Now that that’s settled,” Russ breaks off, grabbing the remote before he settles down more comfortable and closer to Milt, “we’re watching something other than Bees 101.”

“As you wish,” murmurs Milt. Russ wants to elbow him in the stomach for that, but he remembers the whole bullet in the ribs things and refrains.

“Just for that, I’m putting it on the History Channel.”

Milt sighs and groans, but he doesn’t make any effort to take the remote from Russ and change the channel. Instead they sit on the couch, Russ' left hand massaging the base of Milt's neck, and Milt's right hand rests casually on his thigh. Leaning into Russ a bit, Milt props his feet up on the coffee table, and Russ definitely doesn’t smile into Milt’s product-free hair. They just sit there, watching some program about the Revolutionary War.

Neither of them question it, and honestly? Neither of them care.

\------

They kiss for the first time later that night when Russ is cleaning up after the dinner he makes--grilled cheese--and Milt pulls him down before he can pick up their plates. It's awkward and not very well thought out, but it's the cue Russ needs. He moves back to sit on the couch--plates can be taken care of later--and starts kissing Milt properly. They begin to progress to more intense open mouthed kisses when Russ remembers what the doctor said earlier, and pulls away, cheeks heated.

"Something wrong, Russ?"

"Ah, no, not, really, just..." Russ huffs, resting his forehead on Milt's before continuing, "The doctor said you shouldn't get too worked up for like a week or more. Gotta let your body finish healing."

Milt raises his eyebrows, grin on his lips that Russ knows taste of grilled cheese, orange juice, and faintly of hospital jello, and he can't wait to find out what they'll taste like tomorrow. "He _said_ that to you?"

"Yeah, while you were changing."

He chuckles. "Then I guess we really _have_ been obvious."

Russ thinks about the texts from Jacocks, the looks from Font, and the blatant words from Guziewicz, and replies, "I guess so...What do you think it'll be like now that we _are_ together?"

Giving him a calculating look, Milt brushes his fingers along the base of Russ' neck, grinning when Russ can’t help but shiver a little. "I suppose that we won't be obvious anymore, but rather we'll just _be_."

"Just be," repeats Russ, a smile growing on his face.

"If that's okay with you, that is."

"I'm fine with it on one condition."

"Oh yeah?"

"Promise me that one day you'll tell me everything about you, the good, the bad, and the ugly."

"Only if you promise to believe me when I do."

"Then you got yourself a deal, Chamberlain."

"Pleasure doing business with you, Agnew."

Russ kisses Milt's lips briefly before standing up, hands held out to pull him up too. When they're side by side, Russ asks, "Wanna go to bed?"

Milt smiles softly, and it's one of the most vulnerable things Russ has ever seen and he can't describe how happy it makes him. "I thought you'd never ask."


End file.
